I Touch Myself
by Bad.Bones
Summary: This whole hot, long summer at the burrow and Hermione had spent all of it desperately in love with the wrong Weasley. Ginny/Hermione


**Written for xxBlack'sxxDaughter**

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It was a wonderful couch. Hermione had nothing against it; it was saggy and all the springs had been absorbed harmlessly into the stuffing and there were cushions everywhere and an Indian throw over the back. But right now, sitting on this couch, Hermione was the most uncomfortable she'd been since that disastrous family dinner where Uncle Justin realised that he'd lured the wrong twin underneath the mistletoe. But it wasn't the couch's fault.

It was Ginny's.

She'd been sitting next to Hermione for the better part of an hour, her thigh pressing against Hermione's, slick in the summer heat. Hermione kept moving over, and Ginny just seemed to keep following, bumping Hermione with her shoulder and leaning in to tell dirty jokes that she probably learned from Fred and George, eyebrows arched and her mouth pursed around a beer bottle. Hermione didn't have a penis, so the phallic imagery was lost entirely, but Hermione had a real thing for Ginny's mouth and seeing her sliding it around the neck of a beer bottle and gleaming from condensation made Hermione tingle. Her thighs were cramping from all the tensing she was doing.

Ginny stood up to get a biscuit from the coffee table, shirt rising up to reveal a strip of bare back and her skirt so short that if Hermione tilted her head just like _that_ –

Hermione flipped her book in front of her face, pretending to read, cheeks burning. Of course Ginny wasn't doing it on purpose – it was Ginny. Ginny liked cocks, and boys, and boys with cocks. It was what Ginny liked. Hermione tried to stop her stomach from swooping, but it swooped determinedly nonetheless; it had been getting a lot of practise lately. This whole hot, long summer at the burrow and Hermione had spent all of it desperately in love with the wrong Weasley.

"Hey, Hermione," Ginny nudged her, leaning scandalously close. Hermione could see down her shirt, the black bra and the swell of her breasts, the freckle on her collarbone and Hermione wanted her _so bad_. "So this teacher walks into a classroom," Ginny continued, like Hermione wasn't staring at her shirt as through the origins of the universe lay in it, "and the word 'penis' is on the board. So she rubs it out. Only," Ginny giggled, biting her lip, "Only the next day it's there again! So she rubs it out, but it just keeps on coming back, written larger every morning. Until –" Ginny snorted, face red from laughing. "Until the end of the week, and she walks in and 'PENIS' had been written huge all over the board and underneath it says – get this – 'the more you rub it, the bigger it gets!'"

Hermione laughed just because it was so lame, Ginny's legs tangled against hers on the couch and her heart beating in her throat. "Your turn," Ginny urged, and Hermione groaned and thwacked Ginny with the book.

"I don't know any Penis jokes!" she protests, but Ginny waved a disapproving finger at her.

"Everybody and their Mum knows a penis joke, Hermione," She smirked, "So cough up or I'll make you tell it in front of all the boys when they finish Quidditch."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and let her book drop to the floor. Norse Runes could wait until tonight, but Hermione was never, ever going to admit to her Book Club that she'd put it down to tell _penis jokes_. "I don't have a good penis joke," she admitted, "but I have a lesbian joke." Of course she had lesbian jokes; once she'd figured out that, yes, it really was only her that thought male genitalia should be kept zipped up, it hadn't taken long to make the connection and then start fanatically researching things.

"That's even better!" Ginny said, arranging herself on the couch like Hermione was about to read her a bedtime story. Her hair curled across her shoulders, shiny and curled at the ends, and Hermione swallowed and looked away.

"So this lesbian walks into a sex toy shop and asks where the vibrators are. 'Come this way,' the cute woman behind the counter says, gesturing with her finger," Hermione demonstrated, crooking her index finger, "and then the lesbian says 'If I could come that way, I wouldn't need the vibrator, would I?'" Ginny shrieked with laughter, and Hermione snorted, covering her face with her hands.

"That was terrible of me," she moaned, and Ginny slapped her thigh. Hermione felt the heat from her handprint like a brand, and tried not to look too turned on when Ginny kept her hand there, casually resting on Hermione's leg.

"No, it was brilliant!" Ginny enthused, face still red with mirth. "I can't believe it! Guess not all those books you read are about Norse Runes, huh?"

"No!" Hermione shrieked, grabbing a cushion and throwing it at Ginny. She was laughing too hard to deflect it, hitting her full in the face. Hermione sat back smugly, crossing her arms on her chest. Ginny's eyes darted to her arms and back up, a strange expression on her face, but it was overtaken by a smile before Hermione could ask.

"Come on." Ginny heaved herself to her feet, stretching her arms up and cracking her spine. Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably; she couldn't remember how she used to act around Ginny before this dumbass crush, and she was always second-guessing herself. Hermione wasn't exactly inconspicuous; she stared like Ginny was a veela, but friends did that. Didn't they?

"We have to go," Ginny said, kicking Hermione's legs as she stuffed her arms clumsily into her coat. "Fleur will kill us if we're late for her bachelor's party."

"You mean Hen's night," Hermione pointed out, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"No, because Hen's Night makes it sound like we're going to sit around trading Tupperware. It's a bachelor's party, and there's going to be hot strippers and booze and French people and little sausages on cocktail sticks," Ginny said flatly. Hermione couldn't suppress the grin that crimped the corner of her mouth, catching her jacket when Ginny threw it at her head. Ginny just rolled her eyes, unimpressed with Hermione's dexterity. "Just disapparate already," she said, and Hermione stuck out her tongue before spinning and disappearing.

(break)

Truth or Dare was a dumb game, Hermione thought mulishly. The strippers (most of them French, with one memorable Russian who was a huge Star Trek fan) had gone home along with most of Fleur's gender-indeterminate French relatives, leaving Ginny, Hermione, Fleur and some of the Beauxbatons girls with a lot of conveniently empty bottles. If Hermione wasn't three sheets to the wind she wouldn't be doing this, but things like mortal humiliation and hangovers were something for Future Hermione to worry about.

The opening bars of the song came on and Hermione staggered to her feet, tried not to fall over and mostly succeeded. _"I love myself, I want you to love me_..."

Hermione tried to think like a stripper. The only strippers she'd seen so far had been men, so it didn't really help, but she tried to mimic the way their hands had slid tantalisingly slowly down their body, swaying drunkenly and trying to pass it off as badass hot moves. Maybe it was working; Fleur was laughing so hard she'd choked on her drink, and Ginny was singing along with the music cheerfully, eyes half-lidded and heavy as she watched Hermione's spontaneous strip tease. _"You're the one who makes me happy honey, you're the sun who makes me shine..."_

Hermione tugged off a stocking-sock, grabbing the wall for balance and threw it into the motley crowd of drunk women. They shrieked, grabbing for it and falling over each other. Hermione shimmied out of her cardigan, spinning it above her head. She was a natural, and since she was more than half drunk Hermione was actually proud of this. Her eyes fell on Ginny, sprawled on the ground barefoot, the points of her elbows digging into the ground a lazy smile on her face that sent a bolt of heat blossoming through Hermione's stomach. Ginny grinned when she saw Hermione staring, singing through the chorus, shaking out her hair like a diva. _"When I think about you I touch myself_..."

Hermione thought of Ginny splayed on her bed, fingers disappearing between her legs and coming out wet and slick, and nearly fell over. The song faded out, and she whumped onto the ground to catcalls and applause.

"Eet is your turn, now," one of the Beauxbatons said, nudging the bottle towards Hermione. "Spin ze bottle." Hermione grabbed the bottle, cool under her palm, suddenly feeling simultaneously more sober and more drunk than she had before. She twisted the bottle, sent it clinking around on the carpet and somehow knew, before it stopped, where it was going to land.

Ginny just looked amused when the lid pointed at her, quirking an eyebrow at Hermione. "_I Touch Myself"_ was playing on the background in a loop, and Ginny's fingers tapped out the beat on her stomach. "Dare," she said.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I dare you to kiss me," she said. The French girls began to cheer, drunk and horny, because strippers are never satisfying. Ginny looked frozen, caught like a deer in the headlights, and sorry was on the tip of Hermione's tongue when Ginny crawled to her knees, grabbed Hermione's head in her hands, and kissed her.

Ginny opened her mouth straight away, running her tongue across Hermione's lips, her hands twisting through Hermione's hair. Ginny licked into Hermione's mouth with hot, wet swipes of her tongue, running it across the roof of Hermione's mouth, angling Hermione's head so that she could kiss deeper. Hermione fisted her hands in Ginny's shirt, mind turned to static and white noise, Ginny's skin warm underneath her knuckles.

Ginny pulled away with a heaving breath, her eyes wide and dark, bruised mouth slick with spit. Hermione immediately felt cold, wanting to draw Ginny back into her. Fleur didn't look as surprised as Hermione thought she ought to, considering the epic world-changing nature of the kiss.

"Eet is your turn," she said to Ginny, and Ginny seemed to slingshot back into reality.

"Oh, yeah. Huh." She looked at the bottle like she didn't know what to do with it, avoiding Hermione's gaze. _Shit_, Hermione thought, heart in her mouth. _I've fucked it up_. She got unsteadily to her feet, vision blurring and a hollow pit in her stomach.

"I – I have to go," she stammered, and then picked up her coat and fairly fled down the driveway. The worst thing about it all was that Hermione had nowhere to go except back to the burrow, and nothing to look forward to except a really fucking awkward breakfast tomorrow morning.

She apparated back into the garden of the burrow, sneaking through the back door and trying not to wake anyone; a hardware store of snores told her that the boys had come back from Quidditch, and Hermione tried to take some comfort from the fact that not everything in the world had gone pear-shaped. She flopped face-first onto the covers, shedding everything but her top and panties and burrowing under the blankets so that she could pretend to be asleep when Ginny came in.

"Hermione?"

"Shit!" Hermione twisted around in the bed, clutching her wand, wide-eyed with shock. Ginny was standing in the doorway, framed by the light from the landing, picking out red tints in her orange hair. She looked uncertain, a grimace twisting her mouth, the bitter tang of alcohol sharp on Hermione's tongue.

"Can I come in?" She asked, and Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to go for casual nonchalance.

"Sure, it's your room."

Ginny hovered by the doorframe for another minute, before stepping into the room, clicking the door shut after her. It was dark, the moonlight turning everything into shadows and swathes of grey, and Hermione could hear her heart beating out quickly against her ribs. There was a rustle as Ginny hung up her coat, the twin thuds of her boots hitting the wall, and then she began to walk towards Hermione's bed. Hermione nearly stopped breathing when Ginny sat down on the end of the mattress, springs creaking and the bed dipping with her weight. She could see Ginny's face, pale in the gloom, and it looked like she was smiling. Hermione relaxed minutely. All she wanted to do was kiss Ginny, every part of her aching for it, but she didn't move.

Ginny did.

Ginny swung her legs onto the bed, crawling forwards until she was almost straddling Hermione's lap, eyes glinting with amusement. "You ran away from me," she whispered, and Hermione shivered at the low tone of her voice. She didn't really know what was going on, but her body responded to Ginny like she was made of violin strings, tuned to Ginny's voice. Ginny sat on her thighs, heat warm and burning even through the quilt, and Hermione felt electricity bolt through her stomach. Ginny smelled like champagne, and jasmine perfume.

"I didn't know what else to do," Hermione admitted. Trying to talk in coherent sentences was difficult. Ginny was leaning very close, her hair brushing Hermione's shoulders.

"I'm here now," Ginny said, eyes dark.

Hermione took a breath. "I know," she said, and then she took Ginny's face in her hands and kissed her. Ginny's mouth was pliant, parting willingly so Hermione could run her tongue across Ginny's, behind her teeth, tracing the ridges of her palate until Ginny was panting beneath her and making small, cut-off moans that Hermione swallowed down. She nosed at Ginny's jaw and Ginny turned her head blindly, slotted their mouths together again, and Hermione made a soft noise and jerked away but Ginny just followed, her hands resting on Hermione's hips, skimming up her ribs before resting again on the nubs of bone . Hermione's skin felt electrified, overly-sensitive and every brush of Ginny's fingers was sending shocks of heat through her stomach.

Ginny suddenly pushed Hermione down, pulled the blanket out from beneath them. Her thighs spread across Hermione's hips, fingers knuckling up the trenches of Hermione's ribs to cup her breasts. Ginny leaned down, sucking one nipple into her mouth and Hermione gasped, arching off the bed, hands squeezing Ginny's thighs. Ginny began to rub her through her panties, and Hermione groaned, filthy and deep, digging her heels into the bed as she squirmed. Heat was building in her stomach, a damning tension creeping down her spine, and goddamn but Ginny was good.

"Wait, wait," she gasped, and Ginny faltered, drew away.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Hermione almost laughed out loud. "No." She hooked a leg around Ginny's waist and flipped them over, hearing Ginny gasp as she fell onto the pillows. Hermione climbed on top of her, unable to believe that this was happening, placing small sucking kisses on every visible bit on skin. With a flick of her wrist, Ginny's skirt was sliding down her shapely legs, kicked onto the floor, panties following. Hermione sunk down between Ginny's legs, licking her lips.

Ginny stared at Hermione between her splayed-out legs, Hermione's small brown hands sliding up her thighs. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips and lust ratcheted up Ginny's spine, spiking into her head like every firewhiskey she'd ever drunk, at once. "Christ," she said weakly, panting, writhing slightly beneath Hermione's touch.

"You'll like it," Hermione reassured her, and Ginny was about to tell her to get the fuck on with things, she knew she was gonna damn like it, of course she would, when Hermione's tongue probed into her entrance.

Ginny muffled a scream into her forearm; her body slid down the bed, muscles going loose and then tensing again as Hermione licked deeper, filthy and wet, and she moaned Hermione's name. Hermione used her fingers, her lips in unimaginable ways; and then Hermione curled her tongue, touched some place that all those boys had never found, and Ginny was gone. She gasped, molten heat running through her veins and liquefying her, vision whiting out at the edges; all she knew was that she had a hand wound through Hermione's hair, her grounding point, something to return to.

_Something like home_, Ginny thought.

Hermione crawled up beside her, face flushed and Ginny slung an arm around her waist, tangled their legs together. She slid her lips against Hermione's sticky ones, feeling almost impossibly content. "So two straight guys and a gay guy walk into the Queen's Head Pub, and the barman says ..."

(break)

"Shit, we have to go to that thing. That means we have to wake up."

Hermione rolled over lazily in bed, the sun throwing squares of golden light over the bedspread. Ginny was staring at her, propped up on her elbow, naked with the sheets pooled around her waist and Hermione pulled her down, kissed her until Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione's shoulders and pulled them together.

"What thing?" Hermione traced idle patterns on Ginny's back, connecting the freckles in the shapes of constellations.

"You know, Ron's party thing. That thing." Ginny tangled their feet together and Hermione shivered, kicking Ginny away ineffectually. She always took her socks off in the night, and Hermione would find them rolled under the bed with all the shoes and ugly vases, inside-out.

"His house-warming? That little old thing?" Hermione teased and Ginny rolled her eyes sleepily, resting her head on Hermione's shoulder. Her breath was a comforting warmth against Hermione's collarbones, the smooth expansion of her chest and their ribs pressing together, the steady thud of her heart.

"We've been there. Done that. Ours was better, obviously." Ginny yawned, and Hermione smiled, the warmth of Ginny's body and the floral, clean scent of her shampoo making her drowsy. Hermione felt her eyes sliding shut, curled her fingers in Ginny's and dreamt of a million fish streaming in the clear waters above her, Ginny whispering _I love yous_ into her skin.

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My first Hermione/Ginny, so i hope you enjoyed it!


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